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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25501333">Mary Machinations</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/st1nkf1nger/pseuds/st1nkf1nger'>st1nkf1nger</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Repugnant (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, F/M, Other, Recreational Drug Use</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:28:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,432</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25501333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/st1nkf1nger/pseuds/st1nkf1nger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary's got this van. He calls it his "shaggin' wagon". As perhaps his only friend that he hasn't stuck his dick in, you have yet to be invited into the back of it, but that's about to change.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mary Goore/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>67</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mary Machinations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s just shy of three AM when your phone buzzes multiple times in rapid succession. </p><p>You’re passed the <em> fuck </em> out on your couch—some stupid late-night ‘cartoon for adults’ playing on TV—and the noise of the phone vibrating on the coffee table jerks you awake. In your shock, you jolt, fling yourself to the left, and fall onto the floor with a thud.</p><p>“Ow…”</p><p>Groaning, you clumsily lever yourself into a sitting position, snatch up your phone, and squint at the too-bright screen. Your eyes take some time to adjust to sudden luminance and you blink repeatedly. Several messages pop up, all from the same person.</p><p><b> <em>[punkass twig]</em> </b> <em> 2:55 AM: hey u sleepin </em> <em><br/></em> <b> <em>[punkass twig]</em> </b> <em> 2:59 AM: guess that’s a yes </em> <em><br/></em> <b> <em>[punkass twig]</em> </b> <em> 2:59 AM: WAKE THE FUCK UP </em> <em><br/></em> <b> <em>[punkass twig]</em> </b> <em> 3:01 AM: man u fuckin suck wake up it’s still fuckin early </em> <em><br/></em> <b> <em>[punkass twig]</em> </b> <em> 3:01 AM: wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup </em></p><p>Mary’s texts were always like this. The boy barely even uses his phone for anything other than to fucking harass you. With an irritated sigh, you scrub at your sleep-stung eyes with the heel of your hand. Three dots appear at the bottom of the screen, indicating that he’s typing out another message. With a yawn, you quickly tap out a response.</p><p><b> <em>[You]</em> </b> <em> 3:02 AM: what do you want mary </em></p><p>The three dots disappear the instant you press send, and you can only guess he dropped his phone in his excitement. Unsteadily, you get to your feet and stretch your arms above your head with a massive, jaw-cracking yawn. No doubt he wants you to come meet him somewhere. Hopefully, whatever he’s found is less disgusting than the last thing he wanted you to see at three in the morning.</p><p>You still haven’t recovered from that one.</p><p>As you’re heading to your kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water, your phone buzzes in your pocket again. With one hand, you fish it out and unlock it.</p><p><b> <em>[punkass twig]</em> </b> <em> 3:04 AM: its about fucki n time! get ur ass out 2 the airfgield like now </em></p><p>With an amused snort, you gulp down the last mouthfuls of your water, while typing a message with one thumb.</p><p><b> <em>[You]</em> </b> <em> 3:04 AM: the airfgield? what’s an airfgield?? </em> <em><br/></em> <b> <em>[punkass twig]</em> </b> <em> 3:04 AM: god shut the fuck up and get out here already </em> <em><br/></em> <b> <em>[You]</em> </b> <em> 3:04 AM: is this another dead body mary cause i swear to fucking god i’m still traumatized by the last one </em> <em><br/></em> <b> <em>[punkass twig] </em> </b> <em> 3:05 AM: no its not ok just come down here </em> <em><br/></em> <b> <em>[punkass twig]</em> </b> <em> 3:05 AM: please </em></p><p>The ‘please’ is what catches your attention. Mary <em> rarely </em> ever says please. Although he’s one of your closest friends and you treasure his companionship, his manners are, to put it delicately, fucking garbage. He only ever says please when he <em> really </em> wants something and he doesn’t want any more arguments out of you. Which usually indicates that he’s either being sincere or he’s up to something nefarious.</p><p><b> <em>[You]</em> </b> <em> 3:06 AM: mary it’s late and i’m not in the mood for more pranks </em> <em><br/></em> <b> <em>[punkass twig] </em> </b> <em> 3:06 AM: its not! i promise now will u get ur ass down here </em></p><p>With a heavy sigh, you slip your phone back into your pocket and head off to get dressed. Whatever’s got him so riled up certainly seems important, at least to him. Whether it’s <em> actually </em> important remains to be seen. As you yank off your comfortable lounging clothes in favor of something a bit better looking, a peal of thunder rumbles ominously. It sounds distant, though, and the sky outside your apartment window looks mostly clear. Hopefully your luck will hold and you won’t get drenched on your way to meet him.</p><p>When you’re satisfied with your appearance, you snatch up your keys, stuff them into the pocket of your leather jacket, and tuck your bike helmet beneath one arm.</p><p>The airfield Mary mentioned in his texts is actually abandoned and it’s been that way for several years. It sits just on the outskirts of town, growing weeds and collecting empty bottles. Sometimes unruly kids congregate there to drink stolen beer or smoke weed. Sometimes people come and spray paint shit on the ruined buildings. There’s a rumor someone was murdered here but that’s never been confirmed. The hangars are dangerous heaps of rusted metal and the planes have long since been removed. </p><p>What Mary could <em> possibly </em> want to show you there is an utter mystery.</p><p>With a sigh, you throw your leg over your motorbike, pull your helmet on over your head, and tuck the kickstand back with your heel. You give an almighty shove with your foot, and the bike roars to life, rumbling between your legs like some great predator. Moments later, you’re speeding down the road to the old airfield at the edge of town, your stomach somersaulting with excitement. What could Mary have planned?</p><p>When you arrive, it’s not difficult to find him. In the pitch black of the night, you can barely make out a faint yellow glow coming from something along the southernmost edge of the abandoned field, about half a mile away. And is that music you hear? As you approach and bring your bike to a slow, you finally see what is causing the noticeable ruckus.</p><p>Mary’s custom red van—with it’s massive mural of a buff, naked man and woman astride a snarling black panther painted along one side—is parked near the fence, and the interior lights are on. From within, you hear someone rummaging, muttering under their breath, and screaming death metal blaring from the speakers at a high volume.</p><p>Smiling to yourself, you push down the kickstand of your bike and swing off it, your helmet tucked under one arm. Mary is nowhere to be seen, but if you had to guess from the sounds of rummaging and quiet swearing coming from inside the van, he’s here and he’s completely unaware of your presence.</p><p>Slowly, you approach the van and run your palm along the side of it, your fingers lingering on the panther’s head. This stupid mural is one of your favorite parts of Mary’s van. This dumbass car is his fucking <em> baby </em> , and he treats it as such. He calls it his <em> shaggin’ wagon, </em> and no matter how many times you tell him you <em> hate </em> that goddamn nickname, he keeps using it. Just to spite you. If you so much as <em> breathe </em> too hard when in the passenger seat (because of course no one else is allowed to drive it), you’ll get a disgruntled lecture on <em> proper </em> car maintenance and “just how long do you think it takes me to clean this fuckin’ thing?” </p><p>With an uncharacteristic grace, you sneak around the van, and finally find him half-inside the open side door, bent at the waist and rummaging through a large cardboard box. He’s set up a little canopy over the door as well, providing a tiny bit of shelter. In true Mary Goore fashion, he’s splashed himself with that fake blood he’s so very fond of, even for just a chill hangout with a friend. What a dork. He <em> still </em> has yet to take note of your presence, and you just can’t resist a golden opportunity like this.</p><p>“Where the fuck <em> is it? </em>” he snarls under his breath. “Did I leave it—?”</p><p>“Hi!” As you suddenly pipe up, you leap out from behind the van and grab his ribs for extra oomph to your scare.</p><p>With a distinctly un-metal squawk of fear, Mary leaps away from you in shock, one hand clapping over his chest. When he finally lays eyes on you, doubled over and cackling, he lets out a low groan through clenched teeth.</p><p>“Fuckin’ <em> asshole,” </em> he snarls, massaging his chest with his hand. “Goddamn it, you fuckin’ <em> suck.” </em></p><p>“Ohh, I got you <em> good!</em>” </p><p>“Man, almost gave me a fuckin’ heart attack.” He casts you an irritated glower, and goes back to rummaging in the box.</p><p>“Drama queen.” </p><p>As your laughter slowly peters out, you stick out your tongue in a petulant display. Grinning, you lean back against the van, tossing your bike helmet into the passenger seat, and watch him search. After a minute of no further conversation, you heave a dramatic sigh.</p><p>“So, what’d you drag me out here for, anyway?” </p><p>“I gotta have a reason to wanna hang with my bestie?” he asks, putting a sappy, saccharine inflection on the word ‘bestie’ that makes you laugh and punch him playfully in the arm. He shrugs. “It’s a nice night, so... I brought beer and some chronic shit. Thought we could just chill.”</p><p>From the box he’d been rifling through, he pulls out a thick flannel blanket and gives it a vigorous shake to knock loose the dust and debris. It’s permanently wrinkled from being folded and compressed for God knows how long at the bottom of that box, but it’s serviceable. He tosses it over his shoulder.</p><p>“Aw, Mare…” Grinning, you pitch your voice up higher like those condescending mean girls in high school. Then you immediately drop the facade and arch a brow at him. “You woke me up at three in the morning to <em> chill </em> in an abandoned airfield?”</p><p>Casting you a smirk, he clambers into the car, turns it off, and tucks the keys into his pocket. With the brick of beer tucked under one arm, he slides the van door closed with his free hand and saddles you with an arched brow to match your own. Smirking impishly, he slowly starts backing away from the van, hands spread in a shrug.</p><p>“Hey, you’re the dumbass that came down when I texted.” His smirk becomes a full grin, the tip of his tongue caught teasingly between his teeth. “If you wanna leave, I ain’t gonna stop you.”</p><p>Fuck. He’s right and you know he’s right and you hate that. Grumbling under your breath, you scurry after him, and take the brick of beer from his hand.</p><p>“Christ, better not tell anyone scary Mary’s a big ol’ softie,” you tease, elbowing his ribs gently as you fall into step beside him. “That’d ruin his reputation.”</p><p>“Yeah, you better fuckin’ not,” replies Mary, casting you a wary side eye. “Or I’ll have to do something fucked up.”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“I dunno, like start a rumor that I ate someone,” he mutters. </p><p>You laugh and he laughs, too, as he slings his free arm around your shoulder, and your laughter echoes a little across the empty field. Even though it’s three in the morning, you’re glad you came out with him. Time spent with Mary is never, ever wasted, even if it’s just throwing empty beer bottles off of balconies or pushing him around a grocery store in a janky cart while he swipes shit off the shelves. <em> Making memories, </em> is what he calls it. You’re not sure if that’s what you’re doing, really, but it feels good to spend time with him regardless.</p><p>Eventually, he finds a nice flat spot for the blanket, and spreads it out on the ground. As you sit cross-legged on top of it, you rip open the cardboard case of beers and retrieve one for yourself. They’re only slightly cool, but it’s better nothing. </p><p>“Hey,” says Mary, stretching his long, thin body out on the blanket and pillowing his head on his arms, “you remember when we first met?”</p><p>“Of fucking <em> course </em> I do.” Grinning, you take a sip of your beer, and settle back on the blanket beside him, propped up on one elbow.</p><p>How could you possibly forget?</p><p>You met him at a strip club of all places. That sounds worse than it really is. Yes, you met your current best friend in a strip club, but he wasn't one of the nasty dudes hitting up randos for their digits. He was one of the nasty dudes on the pole. You’d been dragged there by some of your other friends—just random acquaintances, really—and he’d been performing on stage. He had that kind of gritty, gutter punk edge that you instantly clicked with. When he caught your eye mid-routine and gave you a salacious wink, you knew you had to get to know him.</p><p>You’d scribbled your phone number on a $20, slipped it into the waistband of those sparkly briefs he’d been wearing, and the rest was history.</p><p>“Can’t believe you weren’t just tryin’ to fuck me. That’s what a number scribbled on money in my thong means,” scoffs Mary, reaching over to snatch the beer from your hand. He sits up a little, craning his neck, and takes a quick sip. “Usually it’s a one, though. The twenty’s what <em> really </em> caught my eye. Rich-ass motherfucker.” He shoots you a shit-eating grin. “Guess that’s why we hit it off, huh?”</p><p>“Sorry, you just aren’t my type, beanpole,” you reply teasingly, sticking out your tongue and snatching back your beer. “Too stringy, makes you hard to chew.” In the darkness, you flash him a predatory grin, delighting in the snorting laugh he gives.</p><p>Truth be told, you <em> had </em> kind of wanted to get into his pants in the beginning, but when the two of you got to talking, you became friends so quickly that wanting anything else felt weird. Like sleeping with him would’ve ruined your friendship somehow. So you two never did. You’re probably one of Mary’s few friends that he <em> hasn’t </em> had put his dick into. There are still moments, late at night, when he’s crashed on your couch, his head pillowed in your lap, that you have to resist the urge to act on those desires. Mary’s a hot guy and you’re not exactly immune to his particular charms, but you value his friendship.</p><p>You're not about to potentially ruin a good thing for something as common an orgasm.</p><p>“Yeah, well,” he mutters, rolling onto his side to fish the lighter and joint from his jacket pocket, “I’d make a pretty shitty boyfriend anyway.”</p><p>“And why’s that?” You finish off your beer, crumple the can in your fist, and huck it into the field. “Dick game not bomb enough?”</p><p>“Hey, fuck you, my dick game is hella bomb.” Scowling, he sits up, and brings the flame to the joint between his lips. “I dunno, I always seem to fuck it up somehow. Just ask the last three people I dated.” With a listless shrug, he takes a long drag and exhales smoke from his nostrils. “They’d probably be able to tell you more than I fuckin’ could.”</p><p>Mary hands off the joint, and reaches around you to retrieve a beer from the box. As you take a contemplative hit, you cast your eyes up to the sky. The clouds are obscuring much of it now, but every so often, a sliver of star-strewn blue peeks through the gray. You exhale a plume of white smoke and watch as it dissipates into the night.</p><p>“Maybe it’s them and not you,” you say softly, keeping your eyes trained on the heavens. “Maybe you just haven’t found <em> that person, </em> you know?”</p><p>You can feel Mary’s eyes on you, watching you intently like he always does when he thinks you’re not looking. But you can’t look at him. Not yet. It’s been awhile since the two of you had had a conversation like this. The last time, you were both <em> way </em> less unsober than you are currently, with inhibitions taking a quick vacation. The heavy stuff came easier then. At least, it <em> felt </em> easier. Now it just kind of feels like pulling teeth.</p><p>“What makes you think I even have one?” he asks, reaching over to pluck the joint from your fingers and bring it to his lips. “I mean,” he says with a suppressed cough, and smoke ekes out from between his teeth. “There isn’t someone out there for everyone. That’s just a bullshit myth people tell their kids.”</p><p>“...What?” Slowly, you roll over to face him, propping up your head with one hand, and saddle him with a concerned look. “You don’t <em> really </em> think that, do you, Mare?”</p><p>He shrugs, avoiding your gaze now. “Don’t you?”</p><p>“Would it surprise you to know that I don’t, in fact, have such a pessimistic view of the world?”</p><p>“Kinda.” He casts you a glance out of the corner of his eye and passes back the joint. “Figured all my friends were the same—heathens, misanthropes, and disgruntled weirdos.” He shoots you a toothy, humorless grin. “They could make action figures out of us.” </p><p>“Too fucking depressing to think like that,” you mumble, taking a deep hit that unexpectedly burns your lungs. With a half-choked ‘<em>fuck</em>,’ you roll into a sitting position and cough into the crook of your arm.</p><p>“Eh,” he says, reaching out to take the roach from your hand, “I’m just being realistic.” He brings the tiny remnant of joint to his lips, takes one last, long drag, then flicks the butt into the darkness that surrounds your blanket. “Too old for fairy tales.”</p><p>Thunder rolls overhead, closer than before, and you both look up. The clouds have become thicker, and now the sky is almost entirely obscured with them.</p><p>“That sounds close,” you say, when you have breath enough to speak. You crack open another beer to soothe your throat.</p><p>“Nah, miles off,” he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand, and casts you an inscrutable look while taking a sip of his beer. “So, you telling me you believe in soulmates?” </p><p>“I didn’t say that,” you say defensively. “But, like… sometimes two people just fit together so fucking well that that shit <em> can’t </em> be a coincidence.” Suddenly embarrassed by this confession, you look away and distract yourself with a gulp of beer. Feels like you’d just admitted you believe in fucking Santa Claus.</p><p>He’s staring at you again. A tiny part of you wants to yell at him to knock it the fuck off, but another part of you revels in his lingering looks. So, in a fit of anxious indecision, you allow silence to fall over the two of you. You pick at your cuticles; Mary toys with the frayed edges of his jeans. The thunder is practically on top of you now, ominously making its presence known.</p><p>“...You ever met anyone like that? Someone you fit together with so well that it couldn’t be coincidence?” he asks, his voice so fucking quiet that it makes your heart squeeze.</p><p>You look at him, studying his gaunt features for a long moment while you ponder. In the semi-darkness, it’s hard to make out the details of his face, but you can see the reflection to his eyes, shining like stars in the blackness of his face. Your throat feels suddenly constricted, choking your words, but you swallow the lump enough to speak.</p><p>“Just once.”</p><p>Another rumble of thunder. You look up. An unmistakable drop of rain splashes on your forehead, followed by another, and another. Out of nowhere, you and Mary are fucking <em> drenched </em> in a sudden downpour. Rain falls around you in blinding sheets like you’d just stepped into a shower. With surprised shouts and a string of curses, you both scramble to collect the beer and the blanket. </p><p>Through the torrential deluge, Mary’s hand somehow finds yours, and he’s tugging you back towards the van. The two of you break out in a frantic run across the field, screaming and yelling the whole way. When you arrive, you’re both breathing hard from your run, and Mary hurries to yank open the door of the van. When he clambers inside and starts up the car, the same abrasive metal begins blasting and he trips over himself in his haste to turn it down. You peer into the back of his van. Instead of a bench behind the driver and passenger seats, there’s a queen mattress crammed back there, complete with blankets, and the walls are decorated with string lights. It has a warm, cozy sort of vibe to it. Almost <em> romantic</em>. A wholly unexpected thing coming from a guy like Mary Goore.</p><p>You don’t think you’ve ever been in the back of his van before. That’s for the people he fucks, not for friends. Sudden anxiety gnaws at your gut and you pull back.</p><p>After shrugging out of his leather jacket, he tosses it, the half-empty brick of beer, and the now-sodden blanket into the passenger seat. When he finally returns, he finds you standing in the downpour. For a minute, he simply stares at you. With your head tilted back and your eyes closed, you stand with your arms stretched upward to receive nature’s gift.</p><p>“The fuck you doing??” says Mary, his voice raised to be heard over the white noise of the storm. The fake blood from his face has washed away with the rain now and he just looks sort of like a wet, angry noodle, glaring at you through the deluge.</p><p>“Come here!” you yell, reaching out a hand towards him. A sudden, wild urge has taken hold of you. “Dance with me!”</p><p>“What?!” The look on his face says quite clearly that he thinks you’ve lost your fucking mind.</p><p>Grinning, you scurry closer, grab his hands, and yank him out into the rain. With a disgruntled scowl, he allows himself to be yanked, stumbling a little from your exuberance. The downpour has drenched his hair and clothes to the bone, sticking both to his skin. In frustration, he pushes the sopping devil lock back, revealing more of his handsome features.</p><p><em> Fuck</em>, he really is pretty, even when he looks like a wet, angry noodle.</p><p>With a bark of boisterous laughter, you begin twirling in place, kicking and stomping your feet into the puddles that are steadily forming around you. With a bewildered look on his face and a slight, confused laugh, he watches you act a fool in the quagmire. Steadily, his smile grows larger and larger until he’s beaming along with you. Eventually, your antics become too infectious to resist. With an almighty howl, he leaps into the fray, kicking up bigger sprays of muddy water and cackling in delight. The pair of you make a big wet spectacle of yourselves, spinning and splashing and laughing and crowing defiantly in the face of nature’s wrath. It doesn’t take long for you both to become winded. Breathlessly, you flop against him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you grin and laugh and gulp lungfuls of air.</p><p>As his panting laughter peters out slow, his arms slide automatically around your waist, drawing you deeper into his wet embrace. Breathing hard but grinning a crooked grin, he leans down to bump his forehead against yours.</p><p>You’re not exactly <em> unfamiliar </em> with physical closeness with Mary, but this feels… strangely intimate—you can feel his warm breath ghosting across your face, sending waves of goosebumps down your spine.</p><p>“For what it’s worth,” you say, when you can finally breathe again, “I think you’d make an awesome boyfriend.” Your face feels hot but you pray the rain will hide your blush and forge on. Shyly, you meet his gaze through your lashes. “...I’d date you in a heartbeat.”</p><p>Mary’s smile dissolves as if washed away by the rain along with the fake blood, replaced with adorably surprised confusion. He recovers remarkably quick, though, and that easy, sarcastic facade falls back into place like it never left. With a snort, he wrinkles his nose in a mocking, half-scowling smirk.</p><p>“Fuck, that beer must’ve gone <em> straight </em>to your fuckin’ head.” He meets your gaze, and his voice drops into a mumble. “What would you wanna date my stupid ass for?”</p><p>“...So I can kiss you any time I want.” </p><p>And you do. Slowly, you draw his lips down to yours, and when you make contact, he stiffens in shock. He hesitates for only a moment, clearly uncertain if this is what you <em> really </em> want, but when you part your lips in invitation, he melts. You kiss him soft and gentle, like you had wanted to the very first moment you saw him, like he <em> deserves </em> to be kissed, like he <em> needs </em> to be kissed. A quiet, pleasured rumble escapes him, and one hand moves to the back of your neck, guiding your head to just the right angle. Heedless of the inclement weather, you kiss him soundly, insatiably, unable to get enough of him—a sentiment he seems to share.</p><p>When you shiver from the cold and the wet, however, he pulls back a little to look you in the eye. </p><p>“C’mon, you’re gonna get fuckin’ sick,” he says, and tugs you towards the van. </p><p>The two of you duck underneath the small canopy, huddled for shelter. Blushing a little, he divests you of your dripping leather jacket and adds it to the pile of random shit in the passenger seat. For a moment, things are awkward. Mary sits in the open door of the van, avoiding making eye contact, and you stand as far as the canopy’s protection allows. You’re still shivering.</p><p>“...Should we get out of these wet clothes?” you ask, in a quiet voice. The implications of your question are crystal clear.</p><p>Startled, Mary meets your gaze and swallows, eyes wide. “I-If you want to.”</p><p>Wordlessly, you close the distance, coming to a stop between his knees. Automatically, his hands come to rest on your hips and he looks up to meet your gaze, his brow knit in confusion and apprehension and restraint and desire, all at once. You lean down, bringing your mouth to his to whisper a question into his lips.</p><p>“Help me?”</p><p>As if in a trance, he gives a nod, and his hands slide beneath your wet shirt, pushing it upward to reveal more damp skin. With a humming sigh, he leans in to press a trail of light kisses to your stomach and ribs, his hot breath raising goosebumps across your skin in waves. Hurriedly, you pull the shirt up the rest of the way and over your head, tossing it into the van behind him, where it lands with a wet slap. When you don’t pull away or show sudden regret, his confidence seems to soar, and soon, his hands are loosening the fly of your jeans.</p><p>Suddenly eager to get him unclothed, too, you yank his shirt up and off, adding it to the pile of wet clothes behind the driver’s seat, and lean down to kiss him again. Your lips crash together fervently, desperately, and you press him backward until he’s laying flat. You straddle his slight frame, hovering over him on your hands and knees, but sudden anxiety claws at your stomach. With a frown, you look down at him, brows knit.</p><p>“A-Am I squashing you? Sorry, I’ll—” Blushing hard, you start to move, but you don’t get far.</p><p>“Where the fuck you think you’re going?” asks Mary, seizing your waist and effectively halting you. “I happen to <em> like </em> being squashed, babydoll,” he says. With hooded eyes, he sits up a little, mouthing soft kisses to your collarbone. “Especially by you.”</p><p>“Mary…”</p><p>“Fuck, sweet thing, say my name some more, just like that,” he mumbles and he gently nips at your neck. “It sounds so fuckin’ good coming out of your mouth.”</p><p>For a moment, his hands wander across your damp skin, squeezing and pulling and caressing while he kisses anywhere his mouth can reach. Every little noise you make, he rewards with his own groans and growls of appreciation. After a while, desperation rises in your belly, and a whine slips past your lips. He shifts beneath you, slipping a thigh between yours for some relief. His cock, rock hard and still trapped in those tight jeans, grinds against you and this dance is beginning to wear thin.</p><p>Growling with sudden impatience, his hands move to the waistband of your jeans and begin yanking ineffectively at the belt loops. You give an airy laugh at his frustration.</p><p>“Fuckin’... why couldn’t you show up naked?” he grumbles, and casts a glare down at your pants.</p><p>“Because I’d get arrested?”</p><p>“That’s kinda hot.” He offers you a smile and a salacious wiggle of his brows.</p><p>“Want me in handcuffs, huh?”</p><p>“Since the day I fuckin’ met you, baby.” </p><p>Mary’s expression turns wolfish. He rolls, and with some minor maneuvering, pins you beneath him on the mattress. With a quiet hum, he dips his head to kiss you, and kiss you again, and <em> again </em> until you’re breathless. Like he just can’t get enough of you. Your fingers dive into his hair, and when your fingernails scrape against his scalp, he rumbles with approval.</p><p>Your wet jeans are beginning to chafe a little. A grumble of discomfort escapes you, prompting Mary to pull away an inch or two, brows knit in worry. </p><p>“Can we close the door?” you ask in a quiet voice, biting your lower lip.</p><p>A sudden shyness overtakes you—which is utterly absurd, really, given that you’re shirtless and wet (in more ways than one), making out on a mattress in the back of a van. What <em> else </em> could you possibly have to be shy about? But you are, regardless.</p><p>It takes Mary a second to comprehend your question. There’s not a lot of blood going to his brain right now.</p><p>“Fuck, uh. Yeah, yeah, hold on. Don’t move.”</p><p>On all fours, he crawls away and you smirk at the rip in the seat of his jeans that grant a peek of his Skittles-print boxers beneath. </p><p>With a slight grunt of effort and a stretch of his long body, he slides the door closed. The interior lights go out, bathing you both in darkness. The only source of light now comes from the square of window in the roof, and the heavy rain pattering overhead makes for calming mood music. In the low light, you can barely make out the silhouette of him, but he’s suddenly there, hovering over you on all fours.</p><p>“Better?” he asks, dipping his head to nuzzle his nose at the column of your throat.</p><p>“Mm, yes. Now get these off me, <em> please.” </em></p><p>He chuckles, and his hands skate down to the belt loops of your loose jeans. At your whispered encouragement, his face splits into a lopsided grin, and he yanks your jeans down to your ankles. Impatiently, you kick your legs to free them from the confines of the wet denim, and Mary hastily shucks off his jeans as well. This isn’t the <em> first </em> time you’ve seen him in just his boxers—he’s startlingly comfortable with partial nudity—but the intimacy of the moment has your stomach doing somersaults.</p><p>A tiny part of you wishes you’d worn cuter underwear. Not that Mary seems to mind—well, at least he doesn’t say anything about your Target bra and mismatched undies.</p><p>With a hum, he mouths kisses to your shoulder and there’s a stinging pinch as his teeth sink into your skin. Meanwhile, as he sucks hard in a few different places to mark you with blossoms of purple, his hand slides between your legs. A quiet rumble of pleasure escapes him.</p><p>“Fuck, doll, you’re <em> soaked,” </em> he purrs, his fingers tracing the seam of you through the material of your undies. “Is that all for me?”</p><p>“No,” you reply in a conversational tone, “some of it’s just the rain.” It’s difficult to keep your voice even as he presses insistently where your clit would be.</p><p>“Oh, is that so?” Lifting his head, he affords you a playful smirk, and he pulls his hand away. “Then I have some work to do, don’t I? Wanna get you nice and fuckin’ juicy for me.”</p><p>Wetting his lips, he pulls your bra up, humming out a chuckle of appreciation as your tits bounce free. With an eager hand, he palms one, his thumb flicking across your stiffening nipple. You bite back a moan, wriggling in desperation underneath him, and he flashes you a wolfish grin from between your breasts. Humming, he drags his tongue across the neglected nipple, drawing the hard peak into his mouth and sucking. This time, there’s no muffling the moan that escapes you.</p><p>“Mary… <em> fuck,” </em> you whimper, writhing as he bites gently down onto your sensitive nipple. A thrill chases through you at the idea that your skin will bear testaments to this little rendezvous.</p><p>“Getting there, baby, don’t you worry.” Mary mouths at your collarbone briefly, before returning to your nipple. </p><p>For a while, he simply lays on you and plays with your tits—first sucking and nipping at one while fondling the other, then switching off. After a couple of minutes of this torture, you whine in distress. The pulsing throb between your legs is becoming unbearable, and his attentions to your breasts are doing nothing to sate it.</p><p>“Oho, someone’s fuckin’ impatient,” mumbles Mary, giving you a devilish smirk. “Christ, you got perfect knockers, baby. Think I should go lower?”</p><p>“<em> Please.” </em> A part of you hates that he’s gotten you so wound up and needy already, but a larger part of you doesn’t care. You <em> ache </em> for relief, for <em> any </em> stimulation below the belt. “Please, Mary, I need you so fucking bad.”</p><p>“Yeah?” He lifts his head to look you in the eye, and his voice drops an octave. “Say it again, doll.”</p><p>“I want you… I <em> need </em> you. Please.”</p><p>Something in him seems to shift, and he’s suddenly kissing you fervently, desperately, almost <em> aggressively.</em> Gently, you nip at his bottom lip and he moans into your mouth. Without warning, he’s pulling away, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your undies and peeling them off your hips. You think maybe he’s <em> finally </em> going to fuck you, but instead he just crawls down lower and nudges apart your thighs.</p><p>It suddenly clicks just <em> what </em> he’s doing.</p><p>“Mare, w-wait, I…”</p><p>Immediately, he freezes and meets your gaze, his head hovering near your hips.  “What’s wrong?”</p><p>You prop yourself up onto your palms to look at him, and self-consciously close your legs. “You don’t have to… um. I-I’ve never had. Someone… you know.” Words quickly become a struggle and your cheeks burn with shame as you trail off.</p><p>“...Do you want me to stop?” In the low light, his expression is difficult to read, but there’s an unmistakable furrow to his brow.</p><p>Momentarily, you war with yourself. On the one hand, if he stopped now, you might fucking <em> die. </em> On the other, if he looked too closely at anything down there…</p><p>“No.” </p><p>Gently, he nudges your legs open again, his eyes trained on your face.</p><p>“Honestly,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to the meat of your thigh, “it’s a fuckin’ <em> travesty </em> that you’ve never had someone’s head between your legs, babe.” He mouths another soft kiss to the other thigh, and lays himself flat on his stomach. “How many people you been with? And no one’s never wanted a taste?”</p><p>“It’s just never happened…” you say softly. “It’s okay, really.”</p><p>“You been goddamn <em> disrespected,</em> sweet thing,” he replies quietly. “But I’m gonna fuckin’ change that.” </p><p>With the broad flat of his tongue, he licks up the seam of you. Just a light touch, just a little to get you used to the feel. At that first exploratory prod of his tongue, you tense reflexively, your face pinched with worry while you watch him in the semi-darkness. It feels <em> good </em> but the butterflies in your stomach won’t settle enough for you to enjoy it.</p><p>He meets your gaze. “Is that okay?”</p><p>“I’m just nervous.”</p><p>“Don’t be,” he replies, and turns his head to bite at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “I’m gonna treat you fuckin’ right, kitten. Just wanna hear you purr for me.”  With his eyes trained on your face, Mary leans in and presses his tongue against your folds, wriggling the wet appendage until it connects with your clit. A rumble of pleasure escapes him, and his arms circle underneath your thighs.</p><p>You watch him for a few minutes, grateful for the low light obscuring your heated cheeks. Slowly, you start to relax, allowing yourself to give in to the sensation of his mouth on you. When he sucks softly at your slick lips, you give a breathy moan.</p><p>Mary only chuckles and continues.</p><p>It doesn’t take long for you to get lost in the feel of his mouth. You let yourself flop backward, twitching and moaning and gasping as he ratchets up that coil of white-hot pleasure in your belly. Lightly, he sucks your clit into his mouth and your hips buck off the mattress with a sharp gasp. Chuckling in his throat, he follows the movement like his lips are fucking magnetized to your pussy, and you catch a glimpse of him shifting to pull his leg beneath his hips.</p><p>Must be difficult to lay on your stomach with a hard-on.</p><p>Suddenly in need of a tether, your hands fly to his hair and yank. He moans out a muffled, ragged <em> ohh, baby </em>into your cunt and brings one fingertip to your ready hole. With his tongue flicking lazily against your clit, he slides a long finger into your pussy. When you squeeze around it, he inhales a hissed breath through clenched teeth, and adds another. He shifts again, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder, and leaves another bite to your inner thigh.</p><p>“Fuck, Mary, oh my fucking God,” you gasp, incoherently babbling as he pumps his fingers in and out, curling them against your walls. “Don’t stop, please, fuck-fuck-fuck!”</p><p>“You gonna come for me, sweetness?” moans Mary, his fingers picking up speed. He rests his cheek briefly on your thigh to watch you. “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ sexy. Goddamn unreal how hard you got me...”</p><p>His fingers and tongue work together in tandem to bring you to that edge and over the other side. As your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, your thighs clamp around his head, and somehow, his free hand finds yours in the darkness. It’s a startlingly intimate gesture—his fingers lacing tight with yours—one that very nearly distracts you from your pleasure, but Mary is persistent. As he continues to lap hungrily at you and those talented fingers of his curve against your walls, the sensations quickly overwhelm you. </p><p>With a surprised cry, your second climax rockets through you out of nowhere. Were it not for the pleasure momentarily robbing you of your senses, you might feel a little embarrassed by the sounds you’re making or the way you convulse uncontrollably. But you’re pretty sure you just came so hard, you saw the curvature of the fucking earth. </p><p>Weakly, you push Mary’s head away, focusing entirely on remembering how to breathe.</p><p>“Next time,” he says, pushing himself onto all fours, “I’m gonna go down on you for a whole-ass day. Maybe have you sit on my fuckin’ face.” Smirking wickedly, he licks his lips clean and wipes his glistening chin on his bicep while crawling up the length of your body.</p><p>“Next time?” you echo, as he leans down to mouth kisses at your jaw and neck.</p><p>“You didn’t think I was just gonna hit it and quit it, did you?” he asks, and chuckles as he bites your earlobe. “Nah, baby, you’re stuck with me now.” Suddenly, he stiffens and lifts his head to look you in the eye. “U-Unless… you don’t want that. I-I mean—”</p><p>“I said I’d date you in a heartbeat, didn’t I?” Your arms slide around his neck and your fingers toy with his damp hair. “Wasn’t just saying that to get into your pants, Mare.”</p><p>In the low light, you can barely make out his expression, but you see the bob of his throat as he swallows. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting such a genuine answer. He dips his head to kiss you softly, tenderly, humming with approval as your lips part in invitation, and his tongue slides smooth as butter into your mouth. That smoldering ember is quickly fanned back into a flame. Grunting desperately, Mary ruts against you, and you can feel his stiff cock, hot as a brand even through the material of his boxers.</p><p>“You got condoms?” The haze of lust clears just long enough for you to string together a cohesive question, and he freezes.</p><p>“...What—? <em>Oh.</em> Uh… fffffuck. Y-Yeah. Uh… hold on…” </p><p>Clumsily, he reaches for the wet pile of clothes behind the driver’s seat, extracts his jeans from the mess, and fishes out his wallet. When he returns to you, he has the wrinkled little package between his teeth and he’s grinning. Smirking, you pluck it from his mouth, rip it open, and reach down to the waistband of his boxers. When his cock finally bobs free, he groans with relief in your ear.</p><p>You roll the condom down his hot and hard dick, and give the head of it a light squeeze. He twitches with a gasp.</p><p>“Fuck, don’t <em> do </em>that,” he says in a rough voice. “I about busted a fuckin’ nut right there.”</p><p>A little giggle escapes you. “Would that be the end of the world?”</p><p>“Yes,” he replies sharply, “because I want to fuckin’ pound you into this mattress.” He hooks a hand behind your knee and guides your leg around his hips. “Yanno, romantically ‘n’ shit.”</p><p>Grinning, he kisses you again, and finally, <em> blissfully, </em> he slides into your waiting hole. In one slow thrust, he sinks into you to the hilt and tenses. A shuddering moan escapes him, deep from his chest. For a long moment he doesn’t move, and you’re beginning to worry.</p><p>“Mare?”</p><p>“Yeah just—g… give me a second, sweets,” he mumbles into your neck, breathing hard. “This ain’t gonna fuckin’ last long, I’m sorry.” Swallowing, he lifts his head to look you in the eye, his brow knit. </p><p>With your hands in his hair, you draw his lips down to yours, and with a sigh, he starts moving. Mary is a very <em> vocal </em> lover—he moans and pants and growls your name, right in your ear, sending shiver after shiver down your spine. You’re honestly surprised at just how quickly your need to come resurfaces, but he hasn’t come yet and it’s obvious he’s trying his hardest to hold off on his own pleasure for you. Judging from the marked tremor to his arms and the ragged quality to his panting, it’s beginning to wear on him. When you whine in distress, he silences you with a kiss, and worms a hand down to tap and stroke at your clit.</p><p>“Mary, <em> please</em>, I’m so fucking close.”</p><p>“I know, baby, I know, I’m gonna take care of you. You feel so fuckin’ good… sssso fuckin’ good,” he rambles breathlessly, his thrusts slowing a little so he can swipe clumsily at your clit. His skin is dewy with sweat now and he’s swearing colorfully under his breath, but he manages to eke out one last demi-orgasm from your pussy, murmuring praise in your ear as you tremble and quake beneath him. With a moan of relief, you clench around him <em> hard </em> and he grunts in surprise, suddenly tensing.</p><p>“<em>Fuck!” </em> snarls Mary, rocking roughly against you as his cock kicks hard in your cunt. “Ahhhhh, fuck. Christ, I’m—shit, fffffffuck—nngh…” With his face buried in the crook of your neck, he groans with each little aftershock, hips twitching, while you pet his hair. Eventually, he all but collapses on top of you, and heaves an exhausted, contented sigh.</p><p>“Mmm… you okay?” Gently, you card your fingers through his sweat-damp hair as the two of you lay together and recuperate. </p><p>“Better than okay,” he mumbles, mouthing kisses to your collarbone. </p><p>For awhile, you bask together in the afterglow, your pulses slowly returning to normal in tandem. The rain is still pounding on the roof of the van, showing no signs of slowing down any time soon. After disposing of the condom (“Mary, don’t just <em> throw </em>it out the door!”), you cuddle beneath the blankets, your head pillowed on his shoulder and his arm around your waist. His fingertips trace light patterns across your skin and you feel sleep tugging insistently at your mind.</p><p>“What about you? Was that… good?” Mary shoots you an apprehensive side eye.</p><p>With a smile, you shift closer, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. “<em>Really </em> good, Mare.” You sigh contentedly. “You were right. Your dick game <em> is </em> hella bomb.”</p><p>“I fuckin’ told you.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>filthy-rat.tumblr.com</p></blockquote></div></div>
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